


Clawfoot

by Threshie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathtubs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hotels, M/M, Nudity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Using an old bath tub instead of his usual shower forces Tony to face up to some of his PTSD from Afghanistan. He would have preferred if Steve wasn't there to witness it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clawfoot

The hotel was old. A blustering snow storm had turned what should have been a simple one-day mission into a mini vacation to Russia, and since they wanted to keep a low profile, staying at the most expensive, modern hotel wasn't an option. Tony had joked that the others thought he'd curl up and die without all the luxuries of home, there had been some good-natured teasing about lack of robots to help dress and feed him, and that had been that.

The problem turned out to be something much simpler.

"Bath tub," Tony mumbled to himself, frowning at the big porcelain clawfoot tub from the doorway. It was the first thing he'd noticed when he opened the door, and had abruptly reminded him that he'd only been using the shower for a few years now. 

Specifically, since Afghanistan.

The rest of the team had no idea how often little things reminded Tony of his time as a prisoner. They didn't notice that he never, ever went to the swimming pool, which brought back memories of having his head shoved underwater. The sight of car batteries still made him shake a little. 

It seemed ridiculous—the battery was what had kept him alive during those months as a prisoner. That battery, and Yinsen, were the only reason Iron Man even existed. Still, the familiar heavy sloshing feel of lifting a car battery made him feel trapped. He associated deep water with drowning, and dark, cold rooms with being tied to chairs. 

It was a good thing he was so good at tacking on a smirk and tossing out droll one-liners, or the others might see how much of a mess their comrade was. How weak Iron Man was beneath the armor.

The bath tub stood there silently, and Tony seriously considered not bathing at all. They were only here for a couple of days. Everybody would notice, though—he was usually so well-groomed. That, and it was pathetic, he told himself, to be afraid of a damned bath tub. It was weak and pathetic, and he didn't want to feel that way anymore.

He stepped into the bathroom, taking a deep breath.

"There isn't even any water in it, Stark," he told himself. "It's not like it's gonna jump at you." Still, he felt intimidated. No amount of reassuring and bereting himself helped as he got undressed. A tingle went down his back when he turned the knobs at the end of the tub and hot water gushed down, splashing across the worn white porcelain. The tub was very, very old.

The splash of the water wasn't so bad. Tony had gotten used to that after awhile. The first few weeks back, he'd had to force himself to even step into the shower. Water on his face made him flinch. For a long time, if he touched his bare chest he expected to feel wires sticking out.

He knew if he mentioned it to anybody they would think he needed therapy. He probably did. If there was one thing Tony hated, though, it was laying his emotions bare for anybody. Especially not somebody who didn't really care and was just there for the paycheck. Somebody who would probably sell him out to a tabloid and publish Tony Stark's weaknesses for the whole world. No, he couldn't trust anybody enough to talk about this. He'd just deal with it, as always.

The room had filled with steam by the time the water reached near the edges of the bath tub. He reached for the knob and turned it in a mechanical way—automatic, thoughtless. The water was standing there, still rippling from stray droplets, and Tony looked down into it like it was endless. His chest felt tight. He tried to take a deep breath, and couldn't.

"It's just a bath tub—babies can handle bath tubs," he told himself, trying to be flippant and casual like he was with everybody else. He could fool everyone but himself with that, though. He was trembling as he stood, gripped the edge of the tub, and began to climb inside. One leg slid easily into the hot water, then the other, and he was relieved to find that it wasn't so bad. The water had looked much worse than it felt. There hadn't been any hot water in that cave.

Reassured, he gripped the sides of the tub with both hands and slowly sank down to sit in the water. The heat was pleasant on his skin, and the old tub was large enough that he could sit with the water up to his chest. The pale blue glow of the Arc reactor flickered across the surface of the bath, and Tony glanced down at the movement.

And froze up.

The water was so close. It was inches from his face, rippling, and all of a sudden his hands were clamped to the sides of the tub like his life depended on it. His chest tightened, his heart racing, and squeezing his eyes shut was the only option.

It's just a bath, he told himself silently, unable to suck in enough air to say it aloud. It's a bath, it's bath water. Nobody's here but you. Still, he struggled not to imagine hands gripping his shoulders, yet more grabbing his hair and forcing his face under. It was hard to breathe just thinking of it.

He sat there for a long time, eyes held tightly closed, hands gripping the edges of the tub in what he was sure was a white-knuckled hold. As much reassuring as he did for himself, as many times as he said over and over that it was just a bath and he was not back in that cave thinking he was going to die, his body didn't believe it. He was paralyzed. His mind wasn't entirely convinced, either, or he wouldn't be so afraid that he'd open his eyes and he wouldn't be in his hotel room anymore.

After what felt like forever, after Tony had fallen into a state of breathing shallowly and trying not to move or think or care what happened to him, it was something else that ended it.

A knock at the door.

The sudden sound was enough to jolt Tony out of his daze. The voice that followed was both a relief and a horror.

"Tony, it's me. Can I come in?"

Steve. Of course, he'd asked Steve to come over and discuss what the team planned for tomorrow. That was the furthest thing from Tony's mind right now, though. If Steve saw him like this—scared of bath tubs—he'd think he was crazy. Somehow that was worse than the public knowing it. Tony actually gave a damn what Steve thought of him.

"Tony?" There came another knock.

Mustering whatever courage he could, Tony took a slow breath and turned his head toward the side of the tub. He couldn't let Steve see him like this. He had to get out of the damned tub.

It was sad how his own disapproval didn't help, but the thought of Steve disapproving was enough to force his legs underneath him. Stiffly yanking one hand away from the side of the tub, Tony turned and immediately clamped both hands to the side he planned to get out of. 

He chanced opening his eyes for only a split second. The memory of water flooding his nose and mouth clamped over his chest like a vice, though, and he hastily squeezed his eyes shut again. Damn it. Why couldn't he beat this? He knew he wasn't in any danger—knew it. Why the hell was he so pathetic?

His mind vaguely acknowledged some sound nearby, but he was too busy trembling, struggling for air and cursing at himself to pay attention.

The hands on his shoulders did the trick, though. Tony was so alarmed that he opened his eyes to see who it was—and gasped at the water two inches from his face, closing them tight again.

"S...S-Steve," he managed, and there was no chance he could cover the tears with sarcasm. Instead he said nothing more, just sat there shaking and willed this whole thing to be some kind of nightmare. Steve had seen him do plenty of things that he wasn't proud of, but this was different. This was the real Tony, the sad, weak, broken one. The one he did his best to hide under various layers of armor.

"Easy," Steve was saying gently, his voice strong and steady. He kept both hands on Tony's shoulders still. "I'm going to move you, Tony. Okay? The bath's cold, you shouldn't be in the bath." He made it all sound very reasonable, like they were just having a conversation and Tony wasn't freaking the hell out. How nice of him.

"S-Sure, okay," Tony replied faintly, keeping his eyes tightly closed still. He was so relieved to be out of the bath that he didn't even dwell on what Steve might think about having to lift him around while he was naked. Whatever. Tony had nothing to be self-conscious about his body for, it was his mind that was the mess.

"Okay," Steve repeated evenly, sliding both hands from Tony's shoulders down into the water to wrap around his waist. "Tony, I need you to let go of the bath tub. I've got you, I won't let you fall."

His face burning with shame, Tony broke into tears again.

"I-I can't..." Why couldn't he? He trusted Steve, right? Why was this such a big fucking deal? His fingers were clamped to the edge of the tub like claws, though.

Steve still spoke gently, but there was definite concern in his voice.

"Tony, it's going to be okay. Just lean against me—can you lean against me?"

Feeling pathetic, Tony managed a tiny nod and scooted closer until he felt Steve's chest against his own. Through his soft shirt, the blond felt as solid and strong as ever, and Tony knew that he wouldn't drop him. He bowed his head, buried his face in the crook of Steve's shoulder and pressed closer to him. Safe—Steve felt safe.

One arm stayed protectively around his back, and he felt the other carefully pry his hands out of their death grip on the edge of the tub. Tony might have panicked that he could fall in the water, but Captain America wouldn't let him fall. He curled his arms in at his sides, shuddering, and did not lift his head from Steve's shoulder.

Steve lifted him like he was nothing, and the water mercifully fell away around Tony, giving way to chill air instead.

Steve didn't carry him far. Being placed on something soft made Tony finally open his eyes again, and he found himself sitting on his bed sideways. Steve sat beside him, half-soaked from the bath water, and gently wrapped one of the blankets around the shorter man's shoulders.

"You're okay," the blond said quietly. "Just breathe, try to relax. I'm right here."

Tony looked up at him and felt his cheeks burning again. His vision blurred with tears.

"Y-yeah, you are," he said hoarsely, trying to wipe at his eyes. The damned tears just kept coming, and his hands were almost shaking too badly to do anything about it. He didn't want Steve to see him like this, but it was too late. The damage was done. That made him want to cry more than any frustration at himself. Steve already had to think he was a twisted piece of work—the others sure did. Now he probably thought 'crazy' applied, too.

There was a hand at his back, resting gently on the blanket right between his shoulders. It made him feel small.

"Tony." Steve sounded gentle still, but troubled. Here they went.

"I-I know," Tony replied faintly, giving up on wiping at his tears. He looked down at his hands, watching the way his fingers shook, and sucked in a deep breath. "I'm...s-scared of bath tubs. Pathetic, right? Wh-who's scared of bath tubs..."

"I won't judge," Steve replied quietly, moving the hand on Tony's back to slip an arm around his shoulders instead. He hugged carefully from the side, leaning to look at Tony's expression, and his blue eyes were full of nothing but concern. "And you're brave, not pathetic."

Tony finally looked at him again, frowning through his tears.

"Brave? Y-yeah, sure."

Steve sighed and drew him closer, putting the other arm around him as well. Tony found that he didn't mind—Steve still felt safe.

"You were afraid and you still got in the water," he said, rubbing Tony's back. "That's the definition of brave, facing what you're scared of."

Tony was quiet for a long moment. He turned to face Steve more, slipping both arms around the blond's waist and hugging him tightly.

"...Th-thanks. For getting me out, I mean."

"Everybody needs help sometimes," Steve replied gently, resting his cheek against Tony's forehead. He was so warm. Hadn't he said something about the bath water being cold earlier? Maybe Tony had gotten chilled. "It's okay to ask for help, Tony."

That made him tense up again, the tears threatening to return.

"Y-you don't think I'm crazy?" He whispered. "I mean, I'm scared of...bath tubs..."

"You're not scared of bath tubs." Steve sighed, holding him close. "You're scared of what bath tubs remind you of."

Tony was quiet again, hiding his face against the blond's neck. 

"Y-you...know about that stuff?"

"I read your file," Steve replied quietly.

Tony closed his eyes, trying to breathe evenly.

"I-I never told anybody about this, it's not in any files."

"The files said you were a prisoner for months in Afghanistan," Steve replied unhappily. "You've got all the signs I've seen in soldiers with PTSD, Tony—I drew my own conclusions."

Great, Tony thought. So Steve had known he had problems for a long time—probably since they met. They'd just both carefully avoided mentioning them. No, he knew the truth—he'd been avoiding it, and Steve had been letting him not talk about it if that's what made him feel better. PTSD, huh? Great, there was a medical term for it. That meant there was probably some kind of treatment, too.

He slumped against Steve's chest, feeling tired and shaky still, and sighed.

"So now what? Y-you're gonna make me go to therapy, right?"

"All I'll do is be here for you," Steve replied, hugging him closer again. "You can talk to me if you need to, or we can just sit here until you feel better. You don't have to deal with this alone, Tony."

"Didn't want you to see this," the shorter man replied softly, almost like he was saying it to himself and not to Steve. Now that he was out of the water and safe in Steve's arms, he felt exhausted. It hit him suddenly, like he'd been drugged. "Sorry. You're—s-sorry. You're important, I care what you think..."

"I won't think less of you," Steve promised, running a hand slowly down his back. "Trust me, it isn't your fault."

A tear slipped down Tony's cheek, and a little pang went through his chest.

"It's not...?"

Steve pulled the blanket up around his shoulders again, and whispered to him. 

"I promise it's not."

**Author's Note:**

> My first actual fic featuring Steve or Tony, so I'm sorry if they seem OOC. Tony's vulnerability and fears are a huge part of what makes him interesting to me, and I wanted to explore that a bit in a scenario. It's SteveTonyFest on Tumblr, so I also sort of wrote this for that event, even though it isn't necessarily a romance piece. I hope it was an interesting read, and I apologize for the abrupt ending.


End file.
